A black and white kaleidoscope
by Hetep-Heres
Summary: …or the introduction of an external element as a pretext to explore the reflexions of characters we know… When there's a new face in a group, there are always some reactions. Even if the newcomer tries to not get noticed. The thoughts of several characters, both upstairs and downstairs, about a new and discreet employee in Downton.
1. Daisy

_She makes the skin crawl a bit, though…_

Daisy Robinson – well, no, Daisy Robinson_-Mason_ would be more accurate, according to a civil status she'd rather forget about – was sitting in the servants' hall, idly flipping through a magazine while letting her mind wander and her eyes peep at the new recruit Mrs Hughes hired a few month ago to strengthen the house staff.

_And those scars… I know it's not her fault, quite the contrary indeed, but still…_

Alice Dillon, seemingly totally unaware of the scrutiny she was under, had her nose buried in whatever periodical was engrossing her whole attention right now.

_And this long face she's pulling, like she's always in the doldrums… What would it cost her to pull on a smile once in a while?_

Burying herself back in the weekly gossip, Daisy tried to get rid of those unpleasant thoughts. But the news didn't seem to be enthralling enough to dispel the uneasy feeling that seized her right before, by watching the last comer in Downton Abbey.

_And these eyes! Sometimes it's as if… well, as if nothing, in fact. As if that look was dead. Nothing. Empty. Or else as cold as her hands._

Daisy had shivered, physically this time, when earlier in the day she had taken a clean dishcloth from the hands of the new maid who had just picked up the air-dried laundry from the clothesline.

Freezing. Her skin was freezing cold. Daisy, who had just been bustling around the kitchen, had felt this unpleasant contact against her own skin, pleasurably warmed up by the stove's heat. She had felt the shiver spread to her spine, and she only just hold back a faint shriek.

_And honestly! she could say more than three words in a row every now and then! Been months since she's there, and I still hardly know her… as though each word she delivers costs her a certain amount of money deducted on her wages._

Again, Daisy glanced at Mrs Dillon – _Alice_, even if it seemed almost weird that such a person had a first name, or whatever human and personal for that matter – to try and spot the hint of a feeling, the start of the beginning of anything betraying some emotion, but no, nothing. Or at the most yes, this crinkle of the lion's wrinkle, there, between her eyes, while her gaze and seemingly all her attention remained set on this periodical she was engrossed in.

_Somehow and all in all, this woman was a bit creepy._

Five days earlier, Daisy and Ivy attended with Jimmy and Thomas – no! _Mr Barrow_ now, when would she finally get used to it? – to a screening of a motion picture. With no ulterior motive of course, and Mr Carson made sure to insist on this particular point before he allowed the four of them to take a night off all at once.

And the moving picture they watched then did greatly impress both Ivy and herself. Hearing that it was a German movie, she hesitated a bit, though. After all, the Germans had killed William. Therefore, wasn't it somehow betraying his memory to go and watch one of their movies? But Jimmy seemed very enthusiastic about it, and Thomas seemed curious to discover it. And after all, it being German didn't necessarily make it bad or wrong. Furthermore, it was after a novel by an Irish writer, so it was somehow nearly not totally German.

Thomas – _no! "Mr Barrow", for God's sake!_ – got a kick from telling them it was a frightening story. Daisy felt rather ill worried about this but she did her best to not how him anything, he would have been far too pleased; on the other hand, it made Ivy even more eager to watch this movie.

So after two nights full of nightmares, Daisy found herself comparing one of her fellow co-workers to this Earl Orlok she had seen in the movie; though the housemaid had neither his long teeth, nor his pointed ears, or his bald head, his white skin, his long gnarled fingers… but it was more a general impression about her.

Enough for Daisy to feel the need to get up and leave the room and find refuge in the comforting cocoon that was the kitchen, Mrs Patmore's kingdom.

And that's where, a few hours later whilst Daisy and Ivy were bustling about tidying everything before going to bed, as like a black and white shadow Alice Dillon was passing by the corridor wishing good night to those still up on this late hour, Daisy Robinson bent towards Ivy Stuart and discreetly whispered in her ear:

"Tell me… after all… what if vampires really do exist?"


	2. Mr Carson

"What?! You mean she married the _chauffeur_?" Mrs Dillon asked wide-eyed, stunned-faced, and slightly open-mouthed at the end of her sentence.

_Amen! Finally, _finally_ someone with some sense of proprieties!_

That's paradoxically the first thought that crossed Charles Carson's mind whilst Mrs Dillon – _Alice_, a first name he'd rather not have had to use – was nevertheless choking a bit on the gulp of water she had just swallowed the wrong way. But it's because he remembered what had caused this sudden choking that Mr Carson thought that, amongst all the candidates for this position, Mrs Hughes probably made a very suitable choice for a House such as theirs.

The new housemaid had been there for several weeks already, but some things still escaped her. Seeing she obviously had some difficulties to grasp the ins and outs of the conversation going on at the servants' table, Anna had taken upon herself to clarify some things for her by way of explaining part of the situation and recent chronicle of the family they both served.

She only made the mistake of dropping the little bombshell about the late Lady Sybil's marriage when Alice was drinking some water. Hearing this, the latter had swallowed her gulp the wrong way, which caused her a small bout of coughing.

_'You mean she married the chauffeur!'…well, finally someone with a sense of what can be done, and what can't…_

Charles Carson was delighted to note that even amongst the young generation were still people with enough sense of decorum to feel appalled by such a thing. Nevertheless, he would have to make sure that nothing in Mrs Dillon's words or behaviour infringed on the dignity of the members of the family they served and whom Mr Branson was henceforth part of.

And that was the second thought to come to his mind then. Well, no, the third, because the second one crossed his mind a few seconds before, whilst the young woman was coughing and failing to catch her breath; it was a thought that, in the more colloquial language of his dissipated youth, Charlie Carson could have expressed as follows: _let's hope she doesn't snuff it on us, really! _If she choked for real, someone would have to tap her on the back to end the fit of cough, and he would hate to have to engage in a gesture seemingly so full of familiarity one anyone.

But fortunately Mrs Dillon managed to get a grip on herself and regain a composure tinged with the dignity required around this table. Incidentally, this composure and this dignified bearing, combined with her impeccable manner of talking, were other assets to this young woman, making Mr Carson approve of Mrs Hughes' choice of her for this position. It was a welcomed change from housemaids slumped on their chair or from those who confused the employers for their roommates, from those dreaming of being part of the upstairs world or from those trying to establish some inappropriate familiarity with the masters.

As for the rest, maybe her work wasn't perfect – but that was Mrs Hughes' concern, wasn't it? – and some of her opinions and past professional experience seemed rather peculiar, to say the least, to a man of Mr Carson's generation, but the perfect servant was a myth, wasn't he? And after all, during such a period when young men were taken from their employers to be sent to the front, someone had to fulfil their job duties all this time... and honestly, Their Lordships and Ladyships weren't to drive their motors themselves like Lady Edith had then briefly taken to do... But really! Aa _woman_, occupying a chauffeur's position! But well, her former employers might not have found any other solution back then, and after all, who was he to judge Them? And never mind, the war was far ago now, and it was well and truly over. Thank God. Just imagine a woman chauffeuring His Lordship, or worse! A reception without any footman but only mere housemaids to serve dinner... All this was part of the horrors of war that Charles Carson had very happily left behind.

He'd just have to make sure that Mrs Dillon evinced towards Mr Branson the due respect that the staff was henceforth to show him. He hoped that what she had just found out about His Lordship's son-in-law's former position wouldn't detract from the deference she owed him. But, might she ever display the slightest sign of that, would she ever think she was allowed the smallest hint of contempt towards him, and she would quickly be disabused by a very strict and firm clarification by Charles Carson, upon butler's word!

But all in all, Alice Dillon did look neat and personable, made a good impression of seriousness, was respectful and discreet, and accomplished pretty much correctly her job without complaining. In these times of House staff shortage, he could consider themselves lucky that this young woman was chosen for the position. Even though a married housemaid – even widowed – was hardly conventional.

At the opposite end of the table, Mr Carson saw Alfred glare at James who, as for him, was sending a wide smile towards a blushing Ivy, who had come to take the empty tureen back to the kitchen. Wrinkling his nose out of disapproval, the butler's mind went back to his musings and thoughts about his staff's new addition.

At least this one, with her thirty-two years of age, her utterly appropriate austerity and her war-marked face would not turn young men's head!


	3. Lord Grantham

The morning's newspapers didn't offer anything particularly engrossing to read this day. Here's probably the reason why the conversation Mrs Hughes was currently having with his wife worked – for once – its way through Lord Grantham's head from his ear up to his mind.

_A new housemaid again! Will there ever be an end to these repeated recruitments and hiring? _And what in God's name happened to the previous one while they were all in Duneagle?

Well, all things considered, maids were his wife's and Mrs Hughes's area. The one and only time he remotely meddled in it… mmm yeah, well, better not think about that.

Although sometimes, his mind indulged in wandering back to past memories. _Pleasant_ past memories. But meant to remain precisely that: memories.

As all this sent him a few years back in the meanderings of his memory, Mrs Hughes's words reached him in snatches:

"…husband died at war… few references… charwoman and housemaid… duty to support our heroes' widows… to the front herself… as ambulance driver… wounded… face… scars…"

Standing in his big library, Lord Grantham looked away through the window, but without seeing a thing of what was beyond it. His mind had suddenly retreated into itself, inside his thoughts. He wasn't hearing the two women anymore, although they were carrying on their conversation a few steps away from him, one sitting on the sofa, the other respectfully standing nearby.

The war… the front… even this woman had been allowed to go there, whilst he had been repeatedly denied this honour.

_Maybe I should have done the same as her and volunteered as an ambulance driver if not being allowed to be a combatant, I'd still have been a thousand times more useful than here. Except that I don't drive… All things considered, I should have asked Branson – no! _Tom_, now – to teach me. After all, if Edith of all people did manage, it can't be that complicated…_

_Incredible, though: as if it wasn't enough that my under-butler has seen more of this was than I have, but now even one of my housemaids has a thicker recent service record than I do._

_Really… what times we live in!_

Times when, apparently, employing married servants was becoming customary: this new housemaid – albeit widowed… Bates and Anna… _Jane…_

_Jane…_ the recollection of his own folly… probably a semblance of his loose youth that came back to sing its swansong… let's hope so, at least.

But was it really to be hoped? This kind of blurry turmoil had been… nice… as if his teens or twenties, although so far ago, made some sort of comeback. And yet, this buried youthfulness had never been revived by any of the other girls working there as maids through the year. Too young, most likely, while Jane… Jane was a _woman_.

But Cora's voice brought him back to reality :

"Still, I hope she won't scare the children, with her scars…"

_It's not as if she were their nanny_, Lord Grantham thought with relief, _they won't see much of her, after all._

"On this subject, Your Ladyship, I've allowed her not to pull her hair as tightly on her right side as would be customary to do her bun, so that a strand can cover part of her temple and cheek. I admit it may seem a bit unkempt, as Mr Carson did point out, but she seems to hold it rather dear to herself. And I thought that considering the circumstances… Although if Your Ladyship would rather she–"

"No, that would be alright, I suppose. As you said, considering the circumstances… Is she that much… er, well… disfigured?"

"No, Your Ladyship, she's not disfigured" Mrs Hughes reassured her. "Nothing like some of the officers we housed here during the war."

Remembering these terrible sights, Lord Grantham held back a shudder. Memories of horror. He always had had some difficulties looking at their face. How on earth did a young girl like Sybil do to bear seeing such visions of horror and not falter? Or even Edith? _Poor boys… Even this Canadian who… Such young men !_

"She's quite marked on the side of her face, though" Mrs Hughes clarified, "I thought I'd better warn you".

"Oh, it's terrible, for a woman, to be affected in her looks like she is" Cora answered. "She'll never find a new husband, now… Especially as available and eligible men around this age are now so rare and prized! If she fits the bill, I think granting her such a little vanity is the least we can do. And that way, the children will be less upset by the sight of her!"

Despite not willing to admit it, and after the memory of Jane Moorsum resurfaced, Lord Grantham felt some relief hearing that the new housemaid was not very attractive.

"Yes" he entered the conversation, "it is our duty to protect George and Sybil. And we can't hold against that woman the wounds she earned on the field of honour by convoying our injured combatants."

"Indeed, Your Lordship", Mrs Hughes approved. "And one doesn't assess a housemaid's worth by the loveliness of her face."

Lord Grantham then remembered what Carson told them about the two young footmen, Alfred and James, when he hired them: _hard work and diligence weigh more than beauty in the real world_. But he also remembered how his mother answered this assertion: _if only that were true!_

"Furthermore" Lord Grantham went on thoughtfully, "that's safer that way."

"_Safer_, Your Lordship?" Mrs Hughes repeated, not understanding what he had meant.

_God Almighty_, he thought, _did I really say that aloud? I must patch it up no matter what…_

"Yes" he answered a bit flustered, "we don't want any tension amongst youngsters downstairs, do we?"

_Well done_, Lord Grantham thought, mentally giving himself a pat on the back. _They seem to be buying this explanation._

_Still, Mrs Hughes is wearing a strange look on her face… Would something escape my notice regarding the house staff?_


	4. Mrs Patmore

_At least, she doesn't need coaxing to eat… _Mrs Patmore thought._ And incidentally, it's rather good to see!_ _"Nothing makes you hungrier than grief"_, she suddenly remembered…

As if it wasn't enough that this woman had a burned temple and cheek as well as an empty or absent look already, it would have been a real pity if, on top of that, she'd had deep-set eyes above sunken cheeks and a skinny-scrawny body! She was at least building up the strength she needed. To Mrs Patmore, here was the main thing.

Mrs Dillon always did justice to her meals, and never failed to congratulate her on her succulent cuisine, even though staff's luncheons and suppers didn't compare with the wealth of culinary brilliance Beryl Patmore displayed for the Crawley family's meals.

Whether it was sincere or said out of sheer courtesy, this was a mark of attention that pleased Mrs Patmore very much. At least, Alice Dillon behaved as a perfectly well-mannered person, and the cook would have rather the same could be said about all the rascals gravitating around her kitchen. Particularly Jimmy and Ivy. As for this scapegrace that was Thomas, this was still another matter altogether…

As for the rest, no a very chatty fellow, this new lass. Bits of polite conversation about the weather, some remarks concerning current events or news read in the papers, and barely more. Although… whenever they were discussing more general topics, or on the contrary more specific ones, as may be, it sometimes seemed to Mrs Patmore that she was about to say something she thought relevant, going as far as opening her mouth, but then she seemed to think better of it at the very last moment and reverted into her usual silence. At these times, Mrs Patmore would gladly pay more than one penny for her thoughts, and for knowing what she had been about to say, but it seemed very hard to have Alice talk about anything she had apparently decided to keep quiet about.

At the most, a few swigs of good wine possibly made her a bit more loquacious – several times did Mrs Patmore try this approach, in moderation – but Alice didn't drink to the point of letting down the barriers she seemed to have erected around herself… All the cook had managed to learn from these attempts was that Alice apparently was quite knowledgeable about good wines. Mr Carson would probably be delighted with that, at least would he be, were the connoisseur a footman and not a mere housemaid.

She also seemed to have her head solidly screwed on the right way, as well as be steeped in common sense; this could only please Mrs Patmore very much. She really had had enough of these stargazing kids and of these sappy-mushy budding girls who spent their lives daydreaming about a better life that would never happen rather than enjoying the one they already had – and would probably have 'til the end. Although "enjoying" didn't seem the most fitting word in Alice's case: she never seemed cheerful nor enthusiastic about anything. Except maybe for these periodicals or books she devoured ("devour", the same word as for her cooking, what a strange idea!) with a pencil in her hand, scribbling Lord knows what here and there. These were the only times she seemed to take an interest in anything, to enjoy anything.

No, this woman was definitely too taciturn for Mrs Patmore's liking. It was hard to feel at ease alone with her. In fact, and without knowing exactly why, Beryl Patmore was sometimes tickled by the wish to take her shoulders in her hands, and shake her like a rag doll shouting "wake up!" at her.

_Yes I know, it's stupid but that's the way it is. I'm sick of seeing her placed here like some furniture each and every blessed morning, noon and night._

_But all things considered, maybe that's what happens to you when you do this job! The result of too many years spent as a mere housemaid, having to make yourself discreet and quiet upstairs, keeping a low profile there and fading into the background, blending in with the wallpaper… Not much more than furniture. _Useful_ furniture._

_Thus, I'm darn glad I'm a cook!_


	5. Jimmy

_For sure, she's no Mary Pickford…_

Indeed, the new housemaid hired by Mrs Hughes was nothing like the in-vogue young beauties. And honestly, even though she wasn't downright old, she wasn't exactly a youngster anymore. She was nothing like a girl such as Ivy, nor like what Jimmy was expecting when he heard that Mrs Hughes was reviewing candidatures in order to replace the ephemeral Edna.

That being said, as she had experienced the war from inside, she was bound to be several years older than Ivy…

Come to think of it, it seemed rather weird. If men had to go to war, so be it. But thinking that women would go too was simply beyond James Kent's ken.

And it just seemed an aberration to him that they came back home disfigured.

Well, to say the truth, this Mrs Dillon wasn't really _disfigured_; it would be excessive to pretend she was. But there was no denying that the scars adorning the side of her face were visible enough not to go unnoticed. So here was what people were rewarded with for wanting to help the wounded? Deep inside, Jimmy thought it very unfair anyway, even though her face probably wasn't particularly stunning before.

As soon as he heard about Mrs Hughes hiring a new maid, he imagined fresh blood, liveliness, a pretty little face, or at the very least a bubbly young girl eager for novelties and entertainments, for funfairs, tea dances and evenings out at the cinema.

Instead of which, they got a thirty-something war-widow who was endlessly dragging her mourning and her long face around as she was trailing the sheds of tattered clothes she couldn't make up her mind to disrobe herself of.

Not unlike Lady Mary did recently, but for the latter it was still very fresh, barely a few month, while the late Mr Dillon did kick the bucket… what… probably four or five years ago!

_And what again is she reading? Does she ever chat instead of that, talk for real, of this and that?_

Some words here and there, one or two sentences during meals or service, here was more or less everything about the talks he had with her since she arrived.

Well, no, not exactly. He was being unfair. She had talked a bit; or let's say that, being asked about the war or her previous experience, she did answer. But the very few things she told them about the war rather cast a chill (_Well? You're asking me, I answer! _she simply told them when she realised the effect her words had around the table), and the reluctance she had for detailing her personal past life curbed anyone's attempts at idle chat. Hardly did she talk about her professional background and previous positions for different employers.

_I really wonder what she looks like when she's laughing… That is, if she ever happens to laugh… Does she then look younger? And what on earth could brighten her up?_

It was a challenge. And lately, Jimmy was getting tired of toying with Alfred's nerves by flirting with Ivy. He had to find another challenge. And this one seemed particularly fitting, because it promised to be difficult. A bit like the idea of making Mr Carson laugh, of all people, but without risking his position. And who knows? In addition to being credited to him as a good deed, maybe it would earn him a new friend?

He glanced at the new housemaid; she was immersed in whatever she was reading, head bent, frowning.

_Mmm yeah, well… Making the family portraits of the Grantham ancestors – hung everywhere in the castle – laugh might finally prove to be less difficult._


End file.
